Snitch! The Collected Cookies.
by Al
Summary: SLASH. Just a little excerpt from Snitch! written to appease my writer's block monster. Draco is called to a bar to meet with his shady underworld boss. Bad language abounds within, so tread carefully.
1. First Batch.

SNITCH

**SNITCH! COOKIE #1.**

A/N

This brief story was written to defeat writer's block on Part 5 of Snitch! … which is coming soon.It was originally posted only to the HP_Paradise list, but after consideration, I have decided to post it here as well.Okay … so, standard disclaimer applies – this be slash, which means gay storylines, in this case, between Harry and Draco.If this is not your cup of tea, or you think it's wrong, or whatever, that's cool … I appreciate that.But please appreciate that **some** of us don't share your point of view, and hit your back button now!There's also implied drug use.

This is totally un-beta read, incidentally.I just **need** to post something J.

As ever, everything is JK Rowling's, none of it is mine, we're just having fun here!

**FIXING THE DEAL.__**

The Pink Parrot was accessed up a short flight of stairs.It was that kind of club.Inconspicuous, secluded, like.You wouldn't know it was there, if you hadn't been told.

Harry was already sitting upstairs when I arrived with the merchandise.Someone, some tart in a tight fitting black dress was on the tiny stage belting out Ethel Merman numbers.Harry looked relaxed, easy, sitting with two of the lads on one side of him, and some bird I'd never seen on the other.They all had shot glasses, and a bottle of Jack Daniels was standing open, and half empty, on the tabletop.A floating candle flickered, illuminating their faces from down below.

Herschel looked at me funny as I sat down, and Harry poured another round of drinks.The bird was looking at Herschel, but he didn't seem to have noticed yet.She was wearing a well cut blue suit, businesswoman, respectable.Shouldn't be seen dead in a place like the Pink Parrot.Here you get all the queens and trannies up from King's Cross.It made our table, dressed to the nines in sober suits, look quite out of place.I couldn't take my eyes off Harry.

Herschel jerked the glass upwards."Mazel tov."

He drained it in one go … Harry and the others drank more sedately.Harry appeared to be regarding me over the tops of his spectacles.

" … there's _no_ business like _show_ business …"

Harry leant in close.People were circulating and mingling near the door, a cabbie, Arab by the looks of things, touting for business.

Without needing to be told, I opened the briefcase.Harry moved the glasses and the bottle out of the way without a word to any of us, set the case down open on the tabletop, and inspected the contents.

"Beautiful," he said, presently.He sat back down again, and lit up.

Herschel, Snake and whoever the woman was inspected the cargo, pulling the little plastic bags free from the lining, cupping the little pills in their hands.

"It's totally legit, right?" I asked.

Harry grinned, and tapped his fag on the edge of the ashtray."No," he said."You ought to know that by now, Draco.Nothing round here is legit.Else I'm a monkey's uncle."

Snake grinned."More whisky?"

I shook my head.Snake poured me a glass anyway."I'm driving.Have to head up west.Pick up a delivery at Heathrow?"

Harry raised his eyebrows."Five hundred grand the lot.Got that?"

"If I'm followed."  
  


"I'll make sure you're not," said Harry."You see anything fucking suspicious, you ditch the wheels."

The wheels were my brand new Golf Gti.I was starting to think that Arab tout might come in handy.

"What about my money?"

Harry sneered, and tossed the bag of pills from one hand to the other.After a moment's deliberation, he said, "I'll give you a grand the lot."

"Fuck you!There's gotta be ten grand's there if I'm a day!"

Harry smiled."I wouldn't get shirty with me, you queer twat," a warning shot.Snake and Herschel leered maliciously at me.

I sneered at Harry."What is it then?Baking powder?"

"Dog worming tablets," said Harry, smiling."To me, they ain't worth shit.To the poor, drugged up arseholes over at Home, they're worth twenty quid a shot."

I did a quick calculation in my head."That's almost fifty grand!"

"Like I said, they ain't worth shit," Harry repeated."Now be a good boy and run along."

I threw back my whisky in one gulp.

"I'll be off then."

"You do that," said Harry.

"Someone's going to rumble you, one of these days," I warned, feeling braver than I actually am.I mean, I was armed as well … we all were.But even I know Harry never bothered to load _our_ guns.Just his own.It was for show.

"What they going to tell the police?The nasty man sold me fake drugs?" grinned Harry."Nah, I'm onto a nice little earner here.Come tomorrow morning, I'll have a new widescreen telly at home."

"Fuck you, and your bloody telly!"

"_Goodbye_, Draco."

I shook my head, turned, and walked away.I could feel Harry's eyes leering at my back.One of the young blokes at the door tried to grab my upper arm as I walked past.I shrugged him off.

"Going somewhere nice?"He _was nice too.Armani shirt, pressed slacks … overdone the aftershave a bit, but then beggars can't be choosers.But I was on a double yellow, and they're right wankers round King's Cross when it comes to parking tickets.I'd rather just get out of there._

"Fuck off."   
  


"Fifty quid the night," he said, following me out the door.I pulled on my coat as we clattered down the uncarpeted stairs and out the door, into the cold night air.Cars were gliding past, headlights blazing, tyres swishing on the wet tarmac.

"Hand job?" he asked, as I unlocked the car door and slipped into the driver's seat.He ran his hand slowly along the Volkswagen's roof.If there's one thing I _don't_ like, it's nasty little rent boys.Draco Malfoy is an altogether classier homosexual than that … ha.

"No, it's fully automatic," I said … knowing full well what the bastard wanted, of course.But sometimes I like to tease people.

"Fuck you!"He aimed a kick at my front wheel.And missed.I could see him in the rear view mirror, giving me the finger as I pulled away from the kerb and flicked the radio on for a spot of music.

I'd have had him otherwise.It's just …

I'd rather have Harry.


	2. Second Batch.

THE GODWIZARD

SNITCH COOKIE 2 

Here be slash.That might annoy you, or whatever, so if it does, consider yourself duly warned, and hit that back button post haste.The rest of you … read on …

----------------

Harry drove us down to Brighton the day after the partyIt's a pleasant drive down from Henley … across the Surrey countryside, then the South Downs, which were just made to be driven over in an open topped car like Harry's newest acquisition, a Morgan Roadster.The miles just seemed to slip by.

I well remember the dreary January evening two years ago when I first came to this bizarre city, a fusion of seaside resort with cosmopolitan melting pot.A city where respectable businessmen mix with hippies, thronging the tiny little shops up on Kensington Gardens, students clubbing till they drop, and one of the UK's largest gay scenes.

Since that time I've been back a fair bit.I've come for the Festival in May, when fringe street artists take to juggling outside the shops, when you're never quite sure whether or not that weirdo doing fuck knows what on the other side of the street is a weirdo or just another avant-garde act.I've been here to see the Lanes and the Piers all lit up for Christmas, and of course, innumerable times I've just come for the clubs.

And each time, I fall in love with the place all over again.

Now, back in 2004, Harry had a spot of luck … or rather, pushed through quite an incredible drugs deal.He passed fifty thousand dog worming pills off as tabs of E, and sold them for a cool three hundred grand, after an initial outlay of just two thousand.The tidy sum he earned off of this enabled him to put down a deposit on a seafront penthouse apartment, with a private sun trap balcony where he could work on his tan.Harry is a lucky sod, in that he tans very easily, whereas I go from a colour roughly approximate to Kwik-Save frozen haddock to grilled Cape Cod lobster by way of nothing at all. 

We were having a run of boiling hot days.It was that peculiar sort of English summer that by rights should not exist in reality.The Muggle gutter press was full of photos of, variously, kids splashing in public fountains, or topless beauties on the beach at Rock.Meantime, the broadsheets made vaguely threatening noises about global warming.Westlife (shit band) were at the top of the charts with a crude cover of the Isley Brothers' classic 'Summer Breeze.'

So, Harry stripped down to his underwear and lay in the sun for an hour or so, whilst I donned a hideous sun hat and sipped at a Margarita.Harry, poor darling, who still liked to labour under the delusion that he's straight (bless him, I'm practically certain he's been sleeping around), had a Stella.

"Nice to catch up with the boys yesterday, eh?" I asked.

"Hmmph," went Harry.

"Ron looked well."

Harry rolled over onto his back, and adjusted his towel accordingly.I noticed a new tattoo just below his navel.

"That's new."

"Hmmph."

"Fancy a shag?"

"Hmmph."

"Harry?"

"Hmmph … put some Ambre Solaire on my back, will you?"

************

In the relative cool of the early evening, we went for a stroll along the seafront.During the day, the clubs put tables and chairs outside and turn themselves into upmarket cafes where one can get a fancy Italian salad, a glass of Ernest and Julio Gallo's White Grenache, and be charged all of fifteen quid for it.Anyway, Harry and I went on a bar crawl, starting off at Alfresco, up at the Hove end of the beach, and ending up, an hour or so later outside Snap! – the club where I once pulled Ron Weasley without realising it.We were both hungry, and bloated through all the drink, so we ordered a burger and chips, and shared it.I renounced vegetarianism in 2004 when it suddenly dawned on me that I fancied the arse off a boy working in my local Burger King at the Elephant and Castle.

There were inline skaters moving swiftly along the broadwalk, kids on them fucking annoying chrome micro-scooters, and a troupe of African drummers practicing on the beach, accompanied by three fire eaters.

Harry said to me, "Got some news for you," quite out of the blue.

"What's that?"

"An item of information pertaining to events unfolding," Harry said, "but that's not important right now."

"No, what is the news?Sad little wanker."

"Do you fancy earning a cool three quarters of a million?" asked Harry.

"Pounds or Galleons?" I asked.

"Oh, Galleons," said Harry, beaming.

"Shit!What's the catch?"

"If we get caught, they'll cut our toes off with pliers," said Harry, casual as fuck.

"The police can do that to us now?"

"Oh, if the police catch us, we go to prison forever," said Harry."So you see, my pretty; it's doubly important that we do not get caught."

"Doing what?"

Harry ordered another round of drinks, and another portion of chips, laced with salt and vinegar to stop me stealing any of them.Bastard!And when those had arrived, he began to elaborate.

""I have a friend in Kuala Lumpur," he began, Kuala Lumpur being, besides a city in Malaysia, a slang term for prison, "incredibly enough, he's in the porridge industry.It's nothing too serious, you understand, just six months for possession of MDMA.He's coming back to London before very longer, and he has made it abundantly clear that he would like us to deal with the fucker who stitched him up."

"I see … and who would the fucker involved be?"

"Another nasty piece of work," explained Harry."He goes by the name of Edward Pearson … although that's a pseudonym.Pearson has built up a rather tidy little nest egg, with the profits from a credit card swindling operation …"

"Three quarters of a million Galleons.He's a wizard?"

Harry shrugged."We think so," he said."He has a Gringotts account.Not that that means anything … loads of rich Muggles who know about us do.But the fortune totals around ten million Galleons, the three quarters is just your cut for helping my mate in Kuala Lumpur."

"So," I said."What exactly do I have to do.Drive?Look nasty?"

"Fuck him," said Harry.

I nearly choked on my sangria."I'm sorry?" I looked at Harry, trying to work out if he was on the level or not.

"Gain his confidence … gain his trust.Make him fall in love with you.You will be playing the naïve seventeen year old rent boy …"

"Who just happens to charge three quarters of a million.Harry, are you nuts?"

"Quite probably.I'm also very dangerous and would happily throw you to the lions," said Harry.

A shudder ran down my spine."I love it when you threaten me.I'll need to look the part?"

"You already do.I will be your pimp."

"Thanks a million," I said, sarcastically.

"Three quarters of a million, to be precise."

************

Later that night, which culminated in an evening's clubbing at Snap!, followed by a very fulfilling and worthwhile naked bed top wrestling session with Harry back in the penthouse, I asked him about this Pearson fucker.

Harry pillowed his head on my chest, and allowed me to tousle his hair."Oh, that?" he said."Well, he's a forty-something plastic cowboy, sells the best marijuana in London town, and has a fondness for young men … particularly blond, sexy ones like you."

I stroked his back affectionately."Why thank you."

"And he is a mean and nasty bastard," Harry went on."I've never actually met him … but I've heard tale.Don't expect this to be easy … because it won't be."

"Fair enough … I'm up for a challenge," I said.

"Good," said Harry."Because I hear he likes leather g-strings.You might want to bear that in mind."

I smiled."But you bought me that leather g-string for Christmas, Harry.Are you sure you don't mind me using it?"

"Use it with my blessing," said Harry."Also dog collars."

"As in … ooh, vicar, look at the size of that macaroon?"

"As in, woof woof," said Harry, wryly.

"Can't I just fuck him?"

"Oh, no, no, no.He doesn't like that at all," said Harry."I'm afraid that is going to be your job."

"Oh, thanks."

Harry sat up, rolled over, and then sat astride my hips, wiggling around to get comfy."I think we should give you a little practice, than," he said, leaning forwards to lick a broad path down my stomach.

I do enjoy it when he gets like this.


End file.
